Olivia At The Gala In A Dress
by gameoff
Summary: A dress, a dance, and some romance. Agent Olivia Dunham is about to have an interesting night.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I consider this story a companion piece to my story 'Stakeout.' However, one can be read without the other.

This is not set during any specific season. Olivia and Peter have been working together for a few years. For the purposes of this fic I did take some liberties with a few show-related details.

I appreciate any reviews or PMs received and will respond if your messaging is turned on. I'd love to know what your favorite lines/moments were.

A big 'Thank you!' to my friend starg8fans for the suggestions and being my sounding board in my fangirl moments. If you haven't read her Fringe/Under the Dome crossover fic, 'Walter Under The Dome', I highly recommend it.

Disclaimer: I own any mistakes, but not the Fringe characters.

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CHAPTER 1 - BEFORE

I was uncomfortable. There was no other word for it. As I looked into my seldom-used full length mirror in my bedroom it seemed like a stranger was staring back out at me. In place of my usual sensible work outfit of blazer, button-down, and dark slacks was a green evening dress. It was low-cut and off my shoulders, making me feel like way too much of my skin was being exposed. And what made me feel the most vulnerable was there was nowhere for me to put my holster so I'd have to go gunless. That never sits well.

I'd traded in my sturdy rubber-soled black work shoes for heels that made me feel like I'd grown a foot taller. I knew they weren't that high, it was just disconcerting to know that a thin spindle of cork under my heel was what was holding up my body weight.

As I turned to check out my rear view the small shiny threads in the dress caught the light, sending little twinkles back at me from my reflection. The dress zipped up the back and was snug around my hips before falling into a slightly looser configuration from there to past my knees. The soft material brushed against my calves as I continued to look at myself from different angles.

I appraised myself from the bottom up, not so sure that I liked what I was seeing. My hair was down and I had curled it so it fell in blond waves around my shoulders.

Earlier, after digging through my bathroom vanity for a few minutes, I had found the stash of makeup in the back of it. Colorful eye shadows and eyelash extending mascaras; rosy blushes and precision lip liners.

I remembered the disappointment Rachel had expressed the day she took me to the mall for a birthday makeover. Well, first she was excited when the lady at the cosmetics counter finished applying, powdering and what I assumed was shellacking her wares on me. The disappointment came when I told the counter girl that I only wanted the eyeliner and the lightest palette of eye shadow.

Rachel, being her ever-hopeful self, still bought me all the products that were recommended that day. I brought them home, unpacked my bundles, including the complimentary make-up travel case for being _such_ a valued customer, and promptly deposited them all into the depths of my drawer.

Whenever Rachel saw me after that I would be back in my old standby eyeliner and shadow. She always made sure to remark how pretty I had looked all made up, and wouldn't I like to experiment a little more? "No," I'd flatly inform her. She'd sigh the weary sigh of the resigned sister and shake her head a little.

She would explode with happiness if she saw me right now, all prettied up for tonight. Ugh, tonight. I would so much rather be pouring over an unsolved case or watching Walter autopsy a mangled body than what I actually was doing. Tonight was the annual FBI fundraiser gala.

I'd managed to wriggle out of it in the past , but this year Broyles had made it mandatory that the Fringe Division attend. I think he was just annoyed because he'd been the only one showing up for the past several years —plus, I had pissed him off last week when I disobeyed a direct order to wait for his signal before entering a building we thought had a soft spot. Of course, Peter ran in after me so that landed him on Broyles' shit list too. Walter, Astrid, and Charlie? Guilty by association, I suppose.

After Broyles made the announcement that we _would_ be attending, like it or not, then came the worry of finding a date. The simple answer would be to bribe Peter to go as my date, but as much as we'd been through together I still felt strange about just coming out and asking him. The next time we were in the lab, Peter brought up the gala himself while he was prepping a slide for Walter.

"So this gala thing," he'd said from behind the microscope.

"Mmm-hmm," I mumbled, not looking up from the paperwork I'd drug out to one of the lab tables. My office got stuffy sometimes in the late afternoon so I was out in the lab where it was cooler.

"You got a date yet?"

I tapped my pen on the table and said, "Well, I'm waiting to hear back from a few people." No, I wasn't. I don't even know what made me say it. I think I just wanted to see if Peter would pursue it. While it was true he and I tested the intimacy clauses of our working relationship on the regular, a small part of me wanted him to actually ask me. I was ignoring the little voice in my head telling me I was acting like a girl who wanted the quarterback to ask her to prom. Plus, I reminded myself, just because we went at it hot and heavy sometimes that didn't necessarily extend to us partnering for commissioned by work dances.

"Oh, okay," he said.

I could've kicked myself right about then because the last thing I really wanted to do was wind up showing up alone to this stupid event and then have to watch some bimbo he charmed with a wink and a smile drool over him all night. It wasn't that I would be jealous, I told myself. I would've felt sorry for the poor girl, that was it. Staring into his blue eyes all night and then being left with a promise to call that never panned out. My mind was mercifully skipping over the part where they probably would end the night with sex and the possibility he might actually call her afterwards. Our exclusive friends with benefits situation was open to derailment at any time. We had always agreed when someone else came along then we would call it quits.

The stupidity leak continued to grow and I said, "Maybe I'll see you there."

"Olivia." The tone in his voice made me look up. "Maybe you'll see me there?"

Uh-oh, he had his I'm-not-happy-face on. Naturally, that made my defenses go up. "Well, yeah. I'm sure there won't be that many people there, we're sure to see each other."

Peter rolled his eyes and went back to what he was doing.

"What?" I snapped, without actually meaning to.

"Nothing," he grumbled and turned his back to me so I couldn't see his face.

I glanced around the lab and could see that Walter and Astrid were pretending like they weren't listening in on our conversation, but not doing a very good job of it. Especially Walter, who looked away so quickly when our eyes met that he probably got some form of ocular whiplash.

I watched Peter's back muscles flex under his shirt as he lifted a new contraption Walter was working on onto another table. I didn't really know what to say, I'd stuck my foot in my mouth and wasn't sure how to absolve this.

"What about you? You bringing some hot chick?" I asked, although I didn't really want to know the answer.

He sighed, "I was hoping to take a hot chick, but it sounds like that option isn't available."

I felt a stab of that feeling that wasn't jealousy for a moment until my brain processed the rest of his sentence.

"Oh, she was busy?"

"Apparently she's waiting to hear back from a few people."

"Hmmm," I said.

Okay, look; I'm good at solving murders, I'm good at remembering numbers, I'm good at drinking whiskey. Interpersonal relationships are not my strongest suit. I mulled over what he said in my mind for a moment before I realized that he was just repeating my words from earlier.

"Wait, are you talking about me?"

He turned back around and met my eyes. "I guess I just assumed we would go together. That's okay though, whatever." He waved his hand in an irritated manner.

Affronted that he seemed upset, I pointed out, "I don't know why you're being huffy. You didn't really ask me or anything. You just asked if I had a date."

"Of which you obviously have several that you keep on speed dial. It's okay, I get it. You didn't think about going with me."

This was so unlike Peter. He wasn't needy and churlish like this usually. I got up and walked around the table to stand next to him. I laid my hand on his arm and said, "No, you're the only one on my speed dial ... well, besides Rachel and Indian take-out." He looked down at where my hand was and I saw a small half-grin turn up one side of his mouth. I knew he was remembering a few years ago when I had said almost the same thing to him.

His eyes lifted to mine and I felt a tenderness wash over me. "We can go together," I told him. "I didn't realize you wanted to go with me."

"Well, yeah," he said softly. "It's not like I want to go with someone else." I bit my lip a little to keep from smiling at what he'd just said. "I'll pick you up at eight," he added.

I nodded. From the other side of the room Walter exclaimed, "How wonderful!"

Peter and I both turned to look at him. "Oh, excuse me," he said, "I've just figured out a way to deliver LSD to this caterpillar. Go on with your conversation."

I narrowed my eyes at the older man, and his sparkled back at me, leaving me no doubt that he'd overheard what had just transpired. Walter's always been the biggest advocate of Peter and I having a relationship so anything that seemed to be moving us in that direction made him deliriously happy. As far as I knew he wasn't aware that Peter and I were sleeping together on and off. I'm sure he'd have already thrown a party in honor of our consummation if he did.

After that, Peter's mood improved tremendously. The week ended on a much better note than it had began on.

I glanced over at my bedside clock and saw that it said 7:45 PM. Peter would be here soon. I took one last look in the mirror and grimaced at myself. I hoped my make-up wasn't overdone.

I crossed to my dresser and opened the wooden jewelry box that resided on top. I wanted to see if there was anything I wanted to add to my attire. There weren't too many items in there. Just a small smattering of things I'd collected over the years, mostly gifts. And of course, the ring from John. Stroking my finger over the velvet encasing the ring, I noticed that my heart no longer seized up in my chest when I touched it. Finally, I was at the point where I'd let go of the past.

A knock on my door drew me out of my musings and I knew that it would be Peter. "It's open!" I called out.

I heard the doorknob turn and the brush of the bottom of the door along the inside mat. I walked into the living room to see a designer suit-clad Peter facing away from me as he was closing the door.

"Olivia, you really shouldn't leave your door unlocked like that. It's danger-," he stopped abruptly as he turned to face me. "Wow," he said, as he looked me up and down. "You look ..." he cleared his throat, while his eyes still raked my body and he seemed to be searching for words.

I was stunned, there is no way I made the usually verbose Peter Bishop speechless. His eyes settled on mine. "Incredible," he finally managed to say.

My heart soared and I felt a weight seem to lift off my shoulders. I smiled at him. "Thanks, you're not so bad yourself." That was possibly the understatement of the century. The man was mouthwateringly sexy on a bad day. Tonight he looked like he'd just stepped off the cover of GQ.

He'd tamed his perpetual bed-head hair with a little gel so it stayed down and in place. His whole outfit fit him well, accentuating the shape of his body. He was dressed all in black, except for the contrast of his stark white shirt as the backdrop against his tie and jacket. I'd seen him dressed up before when we were undercover, but this time was different because I could actually enjoy looking at him without fear that it would compromise our mission.

His face still carried its usual hint of soft stubble. That in itself seemed like such a contradictory thought, but his facial hair rarely was prickly. Once it got past the 5 o'clock shadow stage it was pleasantly scratchy. "You didn't shave," I remarked, walking over to him and touching his face.

"No," he replied, absentmindedly topping my hand with his and rubbing it along his jaw line. "Should I have?"

I shook my head. "Uh-uh, I like it like that. There was only that one time when I got beard burn on my thighs that I complained, and that wasn't until afterwards."

Both of us were quiet for a moment as we thought back to the time he had gone down on me so vigorously I still felt chaffed (but satisfied) the next day.

"God, Olivia," he almost growled. "If you want to actually make it to this fundraiser tonight, please don't say anything else involving me being between your legs in any way, shape or form."

I weighed my options in my head. Would staying here having mind blowing sex with Peter be worth the wrath that I would incur from Broyles for skipping the gala? Honestly? Yes. However, I had gone through all the trouble of getting dressed up so we might as well go.

I spun him around and hooked my arm through his. "C'mon, Bishop. Duty calls."

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Chapter 2 is coming soon ...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to all who read, alerted, and followed this story. And thanks also to those who put me on author alert.

I appreciate any reviews or PMs received and will respond if your messaging is turned on. I'd love to know what your favorite lines/moments were.

A big 'Thank you!' to my friend starg8fans for the suggestions and being my sounding board in my fangirl moments. If you haven't read her Fringe/Under the Dome crossover fic, 'Walter Under The Dome', I highly recommend it.

Disclaimer: I own any mistakes, but not the Fringe characters.

* * *

CHAPTER 2 - DURING

When we arrived at the hall that the FBI had rented out for their shindig the parking lot had more vehicles in it than I was expecting. I was starting to feel a little apprehensive again, lacking the self-confidence some women seemed to inherently possess when they are dressed up. I lagged a little behind Peter as he started for the door.

After a few steps he realized I wasn't beside him and he turned around to look for me. "Olivia? What's wrong?" he asked when he saw that I'd dropped back.

I shuffled my feet as best I could in my treacherous heels and mumbled under my breath while looking at the ground.

He closed the distance between us and tilted my chin up. "What is it?" he asked gently while he held my gaze captive.

I sighed. Loudly. "I don't know ... I mean, I do know ... I just - I just feel weird. And awkward, and weird," I said again, reiterating the last part because that was the best way to describe my emotions. "I don't dress up often, or ever wear much make-up and this ... just isn't me." I flung my arms against my sides in agitation.

Adding to my dismay, Peter started to smile at my comment. I glared at him. "Oh, Sweetheart, you have no idea, do you?" He paused for a moment as though I was going to actually answer him. I just stared defiantly back, waiting for him to continue. I wasn't in the mood to play guessing games, especially with him calling me Sweetheart. He grinned wider and shook his head slightly. "Olivia, you look gorgeous. You trust me, right? I wouldn't tell you that if it wasn't true."

"I trust you," I said quietly.

"Okay then," he said, taking my elbow. "We could be hot, sweaty and naked right now but you insisted we come here, remember? Let's at least go in, so I can make everyone jealous that you're on my arm and not theirs."

"Oh, whatever," I said, playfully hitting him on the chest. I couldn't contain the huge grin that popped onto my face though. Somehow, he always seemed to make me feel better. He gave me a wink and a smile, —yeah, I'm not immune to it either—and started walking again.

Once inside, we signed our names to the guest list. There were tables set up in the entry hallway that had different items that could be bid on for the silent auction. I caught sight of a cruise getaway, a set of golf clubs, and a spa package on the table closest to us. I didn't really bother to look around because anything that called for leisure time was something I probably would never be able to do. Too busy saving the world(s) and all that jazz.

Peter and I entered the large room that housed round sitting tables and the dancing area. There was a band set up at the front and an open bar in the right hand corner. I saw Astrid sitting at a table nearby and waved to her. Peter said, "I'm going to go get a drink, you want something?"

"Some whiskey is fine."

He nodded and walked off. I headed for the table that Astrid was at. She got up to greet me and I could see that she was wearing a pretty purple pastel dress that really looked good on her. "Nice dress," we both said at the same time, then laughed together when we realized what we'd done.

"I've been saving seats for you and Peter," Astrid said, gesturing to two of the chairs at the table. A blue suit jacket hung over one of the backs of the other chairs. The breast pocket had a package of Red Vines sticking out of it.

"Where's Walter?" I asked.

Astrid looked over to the left, "By the buffet table. I've been keeping my eye on him though, making sure he didn't wander over to the bar."

I don't know what we would do without Astrid. She seemed to always be ready to handle whatever we foisted upon her, and in most instances that was Walter. I looked in the direction of the food and yep, there was Walter, peeking under one of the covered dishes.

"Charlie and Sonia are over there talking to Broyles. I even think Nina is around here somewhere," Astrid said.

I recognized some of the people that were there, people I'd passed in the halls of the Federal building. Nobody that I knew very well. I felt someone brush against my arm and I turned in that direction. It was Walter. "Agent Dunham, don't you look lovely today."

"Thanks, Walter," I said. Peter walked up beside Walter and handed me my drink. He dropped his now free hand to Walter's shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

"Doesn't she look lovely, son?" Walter asked, nudging Peter with his elbow.

Peter turned his attention to me again, "You look lovely, Agent Dunham," he said, making sure I could read the sincerity in his eyes. I took a big gulp of my drink to avoid letting the high pitched giggle escape that was trying to come out.

Walter started babbling to Peter about some kind of mini-quiche that was out on the food table and then proceeded to drag him over there so he could actually see it for himself. "I've already eaten six of them!" I heard him say proudly as they broke away.

I settled myself into one of the seats Astrid had procured for us because with Walter and food it was possible they wouldn't be back all night. The chair next to mine scraped against the floor as it was pulled from the table. Charlie dropped down into it beside me. He greeted me, "Hey, Livy."

Charlie was the closest thing I'd ever had to a brother. While Rachel yearned for me to be dainty and girly, Charlie didn't care that I preferred talking guns as opposed to the latest fashion trend. We could tease and taunt each other with the best of them, but we both knew that deep down we were always there for one another.

"Hey," I returned. "Having a good time?"

He smiled wryly. "If I say yes does that mean I lose my tough guy cred?"

"I think you lost that a long time ago when Tucker won that bet and you had to wear Sonia's underwear to work."

"You might be right," he said, rubbing his chin in thought. "You know, they were actually kind of comfortable, all silky and soft," he continued, his tone almost wistful.

I bumped my shoulder against his affectionately and rolled my eyes. He cracked a smile and said, "Yeah, I'm having fun. It's nice to actually be out on a Saturday night, even if it is a work function."

Peter and Walter reappeared a whole lot sooner than I expected. Walter had a plate heaped with tiny sandwiches and Peter had one with some of the quiches Walter had been so excited about.

Peter nodded to Charlie while he removed his jacket before sitting down on the other side of me. He grabbed the top sandwich off of Walter's wobbly pile and was just getting ready to shove it whole into his mouth when Walter told him, "Don't worry son, these finger sandwiches don't actually have human digits in them, I checked."

Peter's progress towards his mouth stopped as he side-eyed his father. "Thanks for that, Walter." He replaced the sandwich at the top of the pile. Normally, a comment like that would just be laughed off as the speaker having thought of a witty pun. With our little group though, it was enough to cause real contemplation on the matter. Whether Peter was foregoing the morsel because it brought back bad memories or because it was possible Walter had literally dug through every sandwich on his plate, I wasn't sure.

Peter slid the plate of quiches between us and motioned that I take one. I knew from experience it would just be easier if I ate the damn thing rather than argue about it.

I took a tentative bite of one of the small pastries and was pleased at the taste of the rich filling inside. It was a mixture of a slightly salty ham paired with a tangy cheese. I finished the one I had and took another. Peter looked satisfied that I did so but wisely chose not to mention it. He grabbed one for himself.

Walter was eyeing the plate between us with the ferocity of a lion looking at a gazelle on the Serengeti so after Peter and I had made a significant dent in what was in front of us I motioned to Walter to give him the go ahead to take the rest. Walter snagged the remaining few and happily added them to his diminishing pile of sandwiches.

About an hour or so had passed, and I was three more whiskeys down. Broyles had come by at some point during his mingling to confirm that Peter and I were actually there in the flesh and not holograms Walter had projected. While he still wasn't what I'd call relaxed and easygoing, there did seem to be a bit of a lighter air around him tonight. He even managed a smile before he moved off to talk to someone else.

I was swirling the remainder of my whiskey around the bottom of my glass when I felt the press of Peter's thigh against mine. I would've assumed that it was just an accident except for the insistency behind it. He was talking to Walter about a study on DNA mapping that had been published in a journal I'd (unsurprisingly) never heard of. I watched as he punctuated his points with stabs at the air and slashing gestures with his right hand. I was focused more on the animation of his conversation than what he was saying, and when I felt his left hand on my knee it startled me a bit.

I glanced down quickly but from anyone at the table's point of view it just looked like Peter had his hand in his own lap under the long white linen of the table cloth. Other than his hand on my leg it seemed like he wasn't paying attention to me, but the very real presence of his fingers running up my thigh made it known that at least some of his thoughts were about me.

His fingertips ignited tingles that raced along my skin. He wasn't even trying anything overtly sexual, just the heat of his contact through my dress was enough to make me suck in a little breath.

Peter finished his spiel and Walter thumped one hand on the table. "Excellent point, son, excellent point indeed!" Peter grinned and slid his gaze to me, giving me a squeeze in the process. I wanted to glare at him, because even though we weren't really doing anything, it was still inappropriate, but I think the look I wound up flashing him may've been tinged more with desire than warning.

Walter stood up. "And now, let's dance!" he said as he turned to Astrid. "Astro, dear, will you do me the honor?" He half bent into a bow in front of her as spoke.

Astrid smiled, "Sure, Walter," she said as she got up as well.

Peter's touch left my body as he pushed his chair back. "What d'ya say, Dunham?" He offered me his hand and inclined his head towards the dance floor.

I wasn't drunk, not really even tipsy, but the whiskey I had was making my insides feel pleasantly warm and making the white noise of inhibition that normally would have kept me from dancing recede to a nearly inaudible hum in my mind.

"Okay," I said, and placed my palm in his.

He led me out onto the dance floor and turned so he was facing me, wrapping his arm around my waist. I put my left hand on his right shoulder. The band was playing a moderate tempo song, one that didn't require us to have a degree in the latest hip-hop moves to keep up with. Astrid and Walter sashayed by us and Walter looked like he was having the time of his life. Astrid was used to being his impromptu partner at the lab while his favorite records played, but when she couldn't (or wouldn't) oblige him, he often danced with whatever was available: brooms, stools, Gene. Tonight Astrid was willingly along for the ride, and enjoying herself as well.

Peter held our joined hands above me and I did a little twirl, making sure to avoid his toes. After a few minutes I relaxed even more and just followed his movements. Peter was all lithe and grace. Some people of his height come off as gangly and uncoordinated but he always moved fluidly, and with a purpose. He never seemed to waste motion.

A few more songs went by and I admitted to myself I was having fun. Peter caught my eye for a moment and gave me one of his genuine smiles, the ones that crinkled the corners of his eyes and lit up his whole face. I never could resist smiling back at him when he looked at me like that. At the end of the next song the band leader stepped up to the mic. "We're gonna slow things down a little here for you all out there."

"Do you want to go sit back down?" I asked Peter. In response he pulled me closer to him so the green of my dress was pressed against his shirt front. Whoever was in charge of the lighting dimmed it slightly, casting shadowy spots throughout the room. The music started again and it was something that only required a bit of swaying to stay in rhythm. He cast his eyes downward to where my breasts were brushing his chest. I knew he could probably already feel my body's reaction to being closer to him.

He shuffled us around a bit, until I realized that we were in one of the darker corners. When he slid his hand down my hip and around to my ass I knew that our relocation had been by design, not coincidence. He only kept it there for a moment, enough time to pull my pelvis closer to his, where I could feel his body was also responding to our proximity. Then he tracked a caress upwards along my spine until I felt the sweep of his knuckles on the skin between my shoulder blades, under my hair. I sighed a little, his touch was soothing but arousing at the same time. I inhaled the warm scent of him by his neck, his cologne mixing with his natural smell into a blend that was fresh and masculine making me think of sunshine and cedar. Sometimes after he'd left a room this fragrance would stay behind, enveloping me in a calmness.

Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the low lighting, some of it _had_ to be the pheromones I was breathing in: I was feeling a confession coming on. Without preamble I said, "I didn't have anyone else I was waiting to hear back from. I was hoping we'd come together from the beginning."

Peter pulled back a little so he could look at me, "Why'd you say that then?"

I countered with, "Why didn't you just ask me instead of hinting around it like a dumbass?"

He smiled at the 'dumbass' comment, then said, "Touché, Dunham. I could ask you the same thing."

I shrugged. "I guess I was embarrassed."

He threw back his head with a laugh and then put his mouth against my ear so I could feel every subtle movement of his lips as well as his warm breath. "Let me get this straight, –you've moaned my name in the middle of an orgasm, you've demanded that I fuck you harder, you've nearly asphyxiated me with your thighs, yet you were too embarrassed to ask me to be your date?"

I flushed, more from the heat his words had sent spiraling south than anything else. He could do more to me with his fucking voice than most men could do with their whole body. "I thought we agreed not to talk about things like that tonight?"

"Oh, we're going to be doing a whole lot more than talking about them very soon," he said, lightly flicking his tongue into my ear and then nipping my earlobe. My fingers tightened on his shoulder and I felt a rush so strong my hips pushed against his.

"Tell me," I heard myself whisper.

He stepped further into me, sliding his leg between mine and grinding the hard muscle of his thigh against my clit in the process.

I closed my eyes and let the sensation move through me. His voice was low as he spoke again, rumbling its way into me. His words drifting across my neck in hot wisps as he told me the different ways he wanted to possess my body. With each new detail the fire in my lower belly burned a little brighter. With his chin tucked into the curvature of my neck he elaborated, "I can't wait to be inside you; to feel you, warm and soft around my cock." He murmured, "Are you wet, Olivia? I bet right now your panties are soaked. Would I have to peel them off of you?"

I swallowed, and he continued. "I can feel it, you know. How hot you are. All that sweet, wet heat pressed against my leg." He pushed forward a little, this time shifting his angle so it was his erection that nudged me near my core. He groaned. "I want to be inside you so bad, Olivia." He was clandestinely nibbling on the side of my neck in between his sentences. "Right now, I'm imagining the look on your face as you come around me."

Dear God, he wasn't going to have to imagine that look if he kept talking. I was going to come right on the dance floor if he continued. My legs were feeling weak and it took all my willpower to keep from lewdly rubbing myself against him.

I sighed, "Why don't they have these damn parties at hotels anymore?"

Peter grinned against me, "Are you saying you want to get out of here?"

I didn't trust my voice to not come out as a moan, so I just looked into his eyes, wondering if mine were as dark with passion as his were, and nodded.

He was pulling me across the dance floor a second later, heading for our table so we could collect our things. I said my Goodbyes to Charlie and Astrid, absentmindedly noting that Walter was telling Peter that Asterisk would bring him home later, possibly after a trip to the all-night diner. If I wasn't so preoccupied with thoughts of getting Peter naked I probably would've been astonished to think the man could even eat anything else.

Peter slung his jacket over one arm and placed his other hand at the small of my back, guiding me towards the double doors leading to the hallway. Once we had exited into the corridor, he reached up and tugged on the knot of his tie, working it down a little so he could unbutton his collar. Upon leaving the building, the cool night air settled around us, feeling dewy on my skin. After the humidity of the ballroom and being next to Peter it made me shiver a little.

"Here," he said, draping his jacket across my shoulders. Reaching the car, he walked me over to the passenger side. He leaned down to unlock the door for me and his profile was caught in the beam of one of the overhead lights. His face was next to mine and I couldn't help but stare at him, he was mesmerizing. The blue of his eyes, the tiny scar on his cheek. "What?" he asked at my look of wonder.

"Just you," I said as I wrapped his loosened tie around my hand and pulled him to me. Our mouths met for the first time that night, and even after his candid declarations regarding his plans for me the intimacy of that initial slide of our tongues together surpassed anything I was prepared for. Longing surged through me like electricity. He pressed me into the side of the car, sealing the length of his body against mine. I grasped his cheeks, feeling his coarse facial hair under my palms as I twisted my head, angling to taste more of him.

After what could've been five minutes or five hours, one of us broke the kiss, leaving us both panting against each other. "Your place or mine?" he asked.

"Yours is closer."

"True, plus we can test out my new bed," he said with a wicked grin.

He'd been bitching for months that his bed was uncomfortably small and finally gotten a larger one recently. He kissed me one more time and made his way around to the driver's side as I settled myself in the passenger seat. I pulled my seatbelt across my chest and rearranged his jacket so the lapels lay flat underneath it. The aroma of Peter wafted up from around me, on me, beside me. My stomach dipped deliciously at the thought that soon it would be more than just his scent that was all over me.

* * *

I hope you like how it's going so far. Let me know what you think.

Chapter 3 is coming soon ...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you all for reading, reviewing, alerting and following this fic.

I appreciate any reviews or PMs received and will respond if your messaging is turned on. I'd love to know what your favorite lines/moments were.

A big 'Thank you!' to my friend starg8fans for the suggestions and being my sounding board in my fangirl moments. If you haven't read her Fringe/Under the Dome crossover fic, 'Walter Under The Dome', I highly recommend it.

Disclaimer: I own any mistakes, but not the Fringe characters.

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CHAPTER 3 - AFTER

A little later we pulled up in front of the Bishops' house. We had managed to keep our hands off each other on the way home, but as soon as we were out of the car it was game on. With impatience I nipped and nuzzled Peter's neck as he worked to get the key in the lock, distracting him tremendously when I cupped him through his soft dress slacks, not caring who might see. With a grunt and a shove the door gave way and we tumbled inside.

As soon as we were both through the door Peter kicked it shut with enough force to rattle a framed picture of Albert Einstein that was in their foyer. Ignoring the disturbed object, Peter grabbed me by the shoulders and tried to draw me to him. The material of his jacket bunched uselessly in his hands without getting me closer. Frustrated, he whisked it off of me and tossed it somewhere in the direction of the living room. I heard it connect with a piece of furniture and slide to the floor in a rustle of fabric.

This time he came forward and backed me up against the door, bracing himself with one of his arms above my head. He brought his other hand up to trace my face with his fingertips, stroking them along my jaw and down the line of my neck. The intensity in which he studied his own movements was the same concentration I'd seen him use to commit complicated algorithms to memory.

He lowered his head, his lips following the path his wandering hand had already staked out. His stubble grazed the skin on the side of my throat and I tilted my head to push against him, enjoying the sting of it on my sensitive flesh. He continued working his way around my neck until he found my favorite spot. Once there, he focused all his attention on it, softly biting me until I groaned with pleasure.

I scraped my nails down his chest to his waistband, where I tugged upwards and pulled his shirt free. His stomach muscles trembled as I inched underneath it, making my way around to spread my palms out against his back. I skated them lower to appreciate the feel of his firm ass, causing him to rock forward into me. He was so hard pulsating against me it made my breath catch in my throat. I wanted him. No, I _needed_ him.

I sought out his mouth, pressing my lips to his before invading him with my tongue, keeping that as our only connection while I pushed him back off of me a little, just enough for me to reverse our positions so he was now the one supported by the door.

I coaxed his belt buckle open, slipping the leather against the metal clasp until it gaped wide between us and granted me access to the button on his trousers. Popping it, I dropped to my knees before him. As I slowly unzipped him, I noted with satisfaction how he strained against the cotton of his boxer-briefs, my own body tightening at the sight.

I rose a little so that I could drag my tongue across his stomach, around the trail of dark hair that disappeared into his boxers, and dip it just under the elastic. I started to shimmy his pants downwards while at the same making sure he could feel the heat of my breath on him through the fabric of his underwear. My confirmation came when he twitched under my attention and let out a groan above me.

I raked my fingernails lightly along the back of his upper thighs, moving up and over his ass to the top of his boxers. Pulling them down gently, I kissed each hipbone as it came into view, scraping my teeth over one before sucking on it as a preview of my next move. Peter hissed at the conflicting sensations.

Soon I had both his pants and shorts around his ankles, and he was free and throbbing in the air in front of me. I took his testicles in my palm, testing their tightness and weight.

Wrapping my fingers around him, I pumped him, letting my palm spread the wetness that had oozed from his tip. Leaning forward, I swirled my tongue around his head before lapping at the sensitive ridge along the bottom. I teased him a bit by taking him into my mouth, working him until he was slippery and then pulling back to exhale across him while I caught my breath, repeating the process several times.

When I next enveloped him, the time for teasing was over and I added purposeful suction. He lifted and held his shirttail flat against his body with one hand, enabling him a clear view of what I was doing. This made me feel powerful and despite my position, in control. With his other hand he circled the base of his shaft, holding it for me and freeing up one of my own hands.

I watched his face as I took him deeper. He held my gaze for as long as he could before he let out a hard breath and rested his head back against the door with a groan. His pelvis thrust forward in time with my movements and I leveraged myself against his legs, encouraging him with noises of my own. His fingers twined in my hair and I kept going until he slipped a shaky hand under my chin.

He gasped my name and I flicked my eyes upwards again. "You should stop," he panted, "I'm too close."

At his words I pushed forward, letting him nudge me deep in my throat. I swallowed against him to tamp down my gag reflex. He grunted and his hips jerked forward reflexively as instinct overrode his discipline. He came in hot spurts and I gulped down the salty tang of his release while he shuddered above me.

Once he was finished I helped him get his pants around his waist and tuck himself back into his clothing. He didn't even bother refastening the snap before he circled his arms around me and rested his chin on my head. "Fuck, that felt good," he murmured into my hair.

We stood, wrapped around each other in the entryway for a few minutes allowing ourselves to recover. He needed to get his land legs back and I had to straighten out the kinks in my own from kneeling on the linoleum. While he stroked my back I pondered how I had always shied away from taking other men all the way to their breaking point. With Peter, it was different. It wasn't even about payback for all the times he had satisfied me in that way. It was more about connecting with him on another level.

When he was steady, he took my hand and led me up the stairs to his bedroom.

I'd spent the night there a few times before, on occasions when Walter stayed in New York researching something at Massive Dynamic. Peter kept it tidy, although he wasn't compulsive about it. His dresser was full of jeans and his worn t-shirts and the tank tops that he liked to wear under his clothes in the winter, with a drawer also dedicated to underwear and socks. His dirty clothes lived in a pile in the corner of the room until laundry day came around.

There was a bookshelf lined with thick volumes on science and physics, some of which had tumbled diagonally against its neighbor, as well as journals full of his own handwritten notes. Another wall shelf held some small souvenirs from places he'd been. I often imagined that when he lived a nomadic life most of his existence was contained in a single duffel bag and although he balked in the beginning, I think he liked having a place he could call home.

His desk always had papers shuffled across it with something elaborate like blueprints or schematics on them, and unless he explained them, half the time I didn't know what it was that I was looking at. He had a picture of himself as a boy that hung in his room, and once he told me that Walter had put it there.

He pulled me through the door and directly to him, lowered his mouth to mine and proceeded to kiss me with such single minded intent it made my insides melt. The ends of his open belt pressed into my stomach so I stripped it free of its loops and dropped it to the floor, wanting to remove the layers between us.

Next, I fisted my hands in the bottom of his shirt until the buttons clicked against my nails. I began shoving them through their respective holes as quickly as possible. His tie still dangled around his collar, the knot almost completely obliterated at this point. I jerked the rest of the knot undone and conquered his final button.

The expanse of his chest was available to me now and I admired him as I ran my hands over it, grazing my fingers through his sparse chest hair, over his flat nipples, past his well-formed shoulders and behind his neck to scratch my fingernails into his scalp at the bottom.

Peter unhooked my hands and stepped around behind me, moving my hair off my right shoulder and biting hard on the curve there. I leaned back into him trying to get more of his delicious mouth on me.

He slid his left hand between us, kneading my ass, shaping it under his touch. Snaking his other arm around my front he palmed my abdomen, spreading his fingers as wide as he could. He moved upward, heading towards my already aching breasts. As he cupped the right one from underneath it caused the fabric of my dress to shift taut against my nipple, making it jut outward against the cloth. He drug his thumb across the obvious crest and I exhaled with a shiver. I placed my hand over his, applying more pressure so he would know what I needed from him.

He hummed against the back of my neck and left a stinging nip there as he obliged my unspoken request and moved fully over my breast so he could squeeze me with more force.

Having given attention to that part of me, he moved on to his next target, slipping his hand into the V of my cleavage on the other side. The cool silky inside of my dress was replaced by his hot calloused palm. The change in texture against my nipple jolted my system, making me groan.

His other hand was now gathering the bottom of my dress up in inches until he had it bunched high enough he could slide underneath it and around to the front of my underwear. The hem of my gown spilled towards the floor again, hiding the fact that he was easing his way between my legs over the lacey fabric. Pressing his fingertips against me as he moved further down, Peter made an appreciative noise when he came in contact with the wetness there.

My body wasn't sure where to focus due to all the sensations coming from different places. The majority of Peter was behind me, his body pressed against mine; yet he was still working some delightful magic on my front side.

He tipped the scales when he moved aside the cloth of my panties and swept his finger across my clit. I moved against his hand, desperate for the friction. As he parted me a little at a time his quickening breaths huffed on my shoulder, allowing me to gauge his own reaction to his advances. He entered me, still methodical in his quest, determined to make me wait, maybe even make me beg. I ground into him, forcing him deeper. Then, turning my head, I kissed him as best I could in the position we were in, trying to convey to him just how good he felt.

"More ... please," I gave in and breathed my request against his lips, happy as he added another digit inside me. I threw my head back against his shoulder as he rhythmically probed me.

"Olivia," his voice husked in my ear, "open your eyes."

I did as he requested and found that we were in front of his dresser mirror. "I want you to see how beautiful you are," he said as he removed his fingers from me and met my eyes over my shoulder in the reflection. I kept my gaze locked with his piercing blue one while he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking the tips of them, "You even taste beautiful."

Finally, I broke eye contact with him and took in my reflection staring back at me. I was flushed, my hair was disheveled and my eyes had a wild look in them. As he moved most of my hair from behind me and forward over my shoulder I tried to get past what I perceived as my imperfections to see what it was that he wanted me to.

There was a feather light touch on my back and then the clasp at the top of my dress popped open. I tried desperately to find him in the mirror so I didn't have to look at myself, but he had all but disappeared behind my own image. The zipper made a ticking sound as he pulled it down, a little at a time. He shifted the edges of my dress apart and his facial hair rasped against my back as he started to slather kisses on each new bit of skin that was exposed to him.

The softness of his mouth paired with the sting sent flickers of electricity through all of my nerve endings. It was as though I could feel them individually, sparking and humming. Without meaning to, I glanced at the mirror again, and this time I saw something different. I was still recognizable as myself but there was something else there, something more. Instead of seeing flaws I saw passion and strength and the raw desire that Peter had ignited in me.

Peter's hands gripped my hips and grateful for the reprieve I turned halfway around to look over my shoulder at him. He met my eyes and grinned before running his hands down the small curve of my waist and over the outside of my thighs. His journey continued until he reached the bottom of my dress. Changing his grip, he cupped my lower calves, letting his return path take him underneath it, up the back of my thighs, until he had his thumbs hooked in each side of my underwear.

He squatted behind me and began to maneuver them off. True to his earlier proclamation, they clung to my body, making me tingle as he pulled them from me. With a final encouraging tug the last bit of lace came away completely causing me to sigh at the rush of air to my hot center.

Peter helped me step out of the panties, "Mmm, I like these, nice and skimpy. You should wear them more often," he said and put them off to the side. He stood again, shucking his shirt in the process. I hardly had time to register that he had done so when I felt him press his bare chest against my mostly exposed back. At the same time he slid his hands around my rib cage into the loosened bodice of my dress, cupping both my breasts at once. More heat pooled in my lower belly at his touch but I was ready to be face to face with him, so I managed to wiggle away and turn around. I captured him by the back of the neck and pulled him to me, engaging him in a deep kiss.

While our tongues twisted he lifted me onto the hard surface of his dresser, scattering a few random things he had up there. He didn't give me any time to question what he was doing before he pushed the lower half of my dress up and began nibbling at my inner thigh, his mouth dancing over my skin. Between trying to keep it out of his way and move me into a better position he was fighting a losing battle with the ruffled material. "Hold this for me," he said, glancing upward.

I was in no position to argue, nor did I want to so I complied with his request. Once his hands were free again he guided my right leg over his shoulder so my heeled foot dangled behind him and slid his left hand up the outside of my thigh to pull me a little closer to him. I felt precariously close to the edge of the dresser but as soon as he lowered his mouth and made contact between my legs I forgot about that. With practiced strokes he moved against me, parting me with his fingers when he needed to for better access.

Peter was a master at using his tongue and he interspersed quick touches with long drags to make sure every part of me received his treatment. I unclenched one of my hands from dress patrol and sank it into his hair. The pieces he had gelled down were no match for my wandering fingers and they crinkled under my touch as I scraped my fingernails against his scalp.

He continued to lick steady patterns against my clit, knowing I was close by my breathing and actions. I moaned his name and pushed against him, pressing my foot into his back. He now held my hips with both hands to keep me on top of the dresser. Every muscle in my body got tighter as my orgasm approached. I came when he groaned against me, the vibration being the catalyst to throw me over the edge. Backing off but not away, he placed gentle kisses on my thighs as he waited for me to refocus.

I unwound my grip from his hair but it still stuck up in fistfuls from my unintentional rough treatment. Moving my leg off of his shoulder allowed him to straighten back up and come forward so the prominent bulge of his arousal was jabbing my still uncovered entrance. He nuzzled my neck, his lips and scruff wet from my juices.

I reached between us and into his half unzipped pants, palming as much of him as I could. "It's time to take these off," I told him.

"Your wish is my command," he said stepping back as he pushed everything down at once. I watched his movements, waiting for the moment he was fully revealed to me. It didn't matter that I had just seen him in all his glory downstairs and many times before that. It never failed, seeing him hard and knowing it was because of me always gave me a rush.

He kicked off his shoes and socks before stepping out of his clothes. Grabbing one of my feet, he began unbuckling my shoe. He looked up at me and smiled, "As many fantasies as I've had about fucking you with high heels on I never realized quite how sharp they would be digging into my back."

I started to apologize and he cut me off with a kiss. "It was worth it," he mumbled against my lips. He helped me pull my dress up and over my head until there was nothing but air left between us. I wrapped my legs around his waist and nudged him closer in a carnal invitation. I watched as he entered me by inches, stretching and filling me as his rigid body disappeared into mine. I glanced up and saw he was looking at me with such tenderness and affection that it took my breath away. I moved against him and with a groan he went deeper.

"Oh, yes," I whispered against his ear. He began to thrust into me while I praised him with more affirmatives. In the back of my mind I noted that the dresser was moving under me. I ignored that thought and turned my attention to more important details such as kissing Peter's neck and then biting his shoulder when he hit the right spot.

Peter had his hands on my ass and was pulling me against him in time with his thrusts when the dresser emitted a creaking sound so loud it overrode the noises we were making. Our activities came to a halt as we waited to see if it was about to collapse. It held, but we decided that it was a good time to move to the bed.

The bed definitely was bigger than his old one because we were able to flop down side by side without one of us hanging off into oblivion. I took advantage of the fact that Peter was flat on his back and climbed on top of him to straddle his thighs. He helped me align myself properly and slide down on his erection.

While he rocked his pelvis upward I rotated mine against his motions. He sat up and his hot mouth closed on my nipple, his wet tongue dancing around it before he sucked at it with increasing pressure. The beginnings of another orgasm started stirring within me. He switched his attention to my other breast while bringing his fingers to rub against my clit.

I don't know if he did it on purpose or if it was my erratic movements, but the sharp edge of his teeth scraped across my nipple and that was it for me. With my chest heaving, I came, clamping around him. He gripped me by the waist and helped me ride my climax out to completion. When I had stopped shaking Peter flipped us over, taking over the top spot.

He drove into me while I moaned, enjoying the fullness of him as I experienced a few last tremors. "Olivia," he panted my name, fighting his own orgasm as he tried to prolong the pleasure.

Threading his fingers in between mine he brought our joined hands next to my head on the pillow. His thumb stroked my cheek as he stared down at me. If our positions allowed he enjoyed making eye contact as he came. It had unnerved me at first, but now I craved that connection and often sought it out myself, disappointed if I couldn't see him. "Peter, you feel so good inside me," I told him as I dug my fingers into his backside and leaned up to swipe my tongue across his ear. His blue eyes took on a fierceness that rivaled a summer storm and I could swear I saw lightning flashing in the nearly non-existent ring of his irises.

I shifted underneath him slightly and the change in angle was too much. The grip he had on my hand tightened as he growled my name and spilled into me. I arched some more under him, making the most of his last thrusts. When his movements ceased, he untwined our hands and brushed some stray locks of hair from the side of my face before lowering his mouth to kiss me. His tongue moved against mine with the laziness of being sated and the knowledge that we had just shared something profound.

Easing off of me, he lay beside me with his chin on my shoulder and his arm slung over my midsection. His breathing tickled my ear and that familiar calmness of being near him settled over me. I turned so I was facing him, "I saw it," I whispered, nudging a little closer to him. I paused, choosing my wording carefully. "What you see when you look at me."

He pressed his forehead against mine and tightened his arm around me. "Good."

I let the truthfulness of the moment take over, "It's there because of you." He smiled and cupped the side of my face in his hand, turning his head the little bit needed for him to place a lingering kiss on my lips.

After that we stayed quiet in the stillness of his bedroom. I could smell us on the sheets and I closed my eyes as I inhaled the aroma of our lovemaking. There were undertones of each of us but they blended together into a complimentary scent that wrapped me in security and warmth.

There were things I wished I could convey to Peter but the words never seemed right, so I played cloak and dagger with them, disguising them in banter and friendly retorts. I hoped that my actions filled in the gaps between what I said and didn't, giving him the complete catalogue of my feelings.

I must've drifted off to sleep after that because the next thing I knew I was jolted awake by the rattling of Peter's doorknob. I jerked and glanced at the bedside clock. It was a little after 3AM.

"Peter, why is your door locked?" Walter's perplexed voice came through the wood. Then there was an exclamation of "Oh!" as though something just dawned on him. "Hello, Olivia!" Walter shouted with way too much enthusiasm for this time of day.

I looked at a sleepy Peter, who groaned. "Fuck," he said under his breath. Louder he replied, "Walter, Olivia's not here."

"Well, that was certainly rude son, to go out with Olivia and then bring someone else home."

Maybe it was because my naked body was pressed up against his and I was feeling a little possessive or maybe it was because I was still too groggy to mask my emotions. I glared at Peter. "Thank you, Walter."

"Ah, Agent Dunham ... I knew that had to be you in there. We'll have the Bishop family specialty for breakfast, blueberry pancakes. It's the most important meal of the day, you know. I proved it in 1973."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Walter, go to bed."

"Okay, goodnight you two," Walter called out. I could hear him singing a list of ingredients to himself as he shuffled down the hallway.

Peter adjusted the sheet so it was tucked in a little more around us. He yawned and snuggled against me. "He's right about the pancakes, you'll love them."

Peter seemed completely unperturbed that his father had just discovered we were sleeping together. "You don't care that he knows?"

He shrugged. "It was only a matter of time before he found out anyway. Does it bother you?"

I thought for a moment. The realization hit me, even knowing all the embarrassing conversations in store for us, I didn't care. I smiled, "No."

**_POPOPOPOPOPO_**

The next time I awoke it was to the smell of bacon creeping under Peter's door. The sun streamed in the window to brighten everything it touched. I yawned, stretching as certain muscles I had overused last night ached in protest. Peter stirred beside me and opened one eye. "Morning already?" he said, his voice reduced to sleep-tinged gravel.

"Uh-huh," I said, suppressing another yawn.

Peter pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. After a few moments he heaved himself out of bed and over to his dresser. Extracting enough clothes for both of us, he came to my side of the bed and handed me some sweatpants and a t-shirt. He gave me a quick kiss before I dropped the offered garment over my head. The sweatpants were a little big but that was fixed by rolling down the waistband twice.

"You ready for this?" Peter asked before opening his door.

"No," I answered but I smiled as I said it.

We trouped downstairs and into the kitchen to find Walter at the stove. "Good morning!" Walter trilled, waving at us with a spatula. I steeled myself for the onslaught of inappropriate questions Walter was sure to start flinging at us. I was surprised when the only question he asked was how I liked my eggs.

Peter reached up and pulled two mugs from the cabinet and took them over to the coffee pot. As he filled the cups I could see him reading a notepad that was on the counter.

I walked over and took a cup from him, glancing at the paper as well. The left side had a column of names of people we knew and the right side had doodled pictures of things like cake and party favors.

Peter gestured to the paper with his coffee cup before raising it to his mouth to take a swig. "Walter, what's this list?"

I sniffed the rich coffee in my hand while I waited for Walter to answer. I had just taken my first sip when Walter spoke up. "Oh, that's the list of people and things we need for the party I'm having."

"What party?" Peter asked.

Oh, I had a very bad feeling about this. "Why, the one to celebrate you and Agent Dunham having intercourse." Walter stated as though it should've been obvious all along.

Peter almost choked on his coffee. Sputtering, he said, "What?" Then he shook his head and pointed at Walter. "No, no AND no."

I actually laughed at the absurdity of my prediction coming true. "See," Walter said, looking at me, "Olivia likes the idea."

"Oh, now, wait a minute." I held my hand up. "I didn't say that."

"But I waited until you two admitted it. I've been waiting months to have this party."

Now it was my turn to nearly lose my coffee. "You knew?"

"Of course, dear. It was rather obvious and besides, the Bishop men are known to have a high concentration of testosterone which would make Peter very sexually attractive to you, causing you to want him to place his-

"Oh my God, please stop. Is the bacon ready yet?" Peter derailed his father from further comments about our apparently not well-concealed sex life.

I followed Peter as he took the plate of bacon Walter handed him over to the table. Walter joined us a minute later, adding steaming eggs and fluffy pancakes.

It was at that moment, sitting in the Bishops' kitchen, eating pancakes with Peter beside me, listening to them argue about Walter's ludicrous list that I realized I was the most comfortable I had been in a very long time.

THE END

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed this fic. Please drop me a line or two (or even more) and let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading.


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